The God who Kneels.

Earlier this year a US president posted an AI-generated image of himself looking remarkably like Jesus healing someone. The response was strong. Out of all the wild things he had posted, for many this was a bridge too far. And it's worth asking — why?

It's one thing to depict Jesus standing with you, blessing your decisions. It's another thing entirely to depict yourself as Jesus — the healer, the Christ, the Messiah. That hit a nerve.

Curiously, when Jesus made similar claims about himself, the crowd reacted in much the same way. You, a mere man, claim to be God. They were so offended they put him on a Roman cross to die a slave's death.

It shows the scale of the problem. If Jesus isn't who he says he is, his claims are unhinged. If he claims to be God but isn't, he's insane. Unless, of course, what he says is true.

The highest claims, the lowest action

Jesus is unique among the religious teachers and gurus of history. He doesn't just claim to know the truth — he claims to be the truth. Not just to know the way, but to be the way. Not just to know God, but to be God.

These are the highest, loftiest claims anyone could possibly make.

What we'd expect from someone making those claims is, "I am your creator, serve me hand and foot." Roll out the red carpet. Prepare the gala dinner.

What we get is something different.

In John 13, on the night before his crucifixion, Jesus gathers with his disciples for the Passover meal. He knows exactly who he is. He knows the Father has put all things under his power. He knows he came from God and is returning to God. He knows one of his disciples is about to betray him.

And what does he do with all of that?

He gets up from the table. Takes off his outer robe. Wraps a towel around his waist — the posture of a slave. And kneels to wash the disciples' feet.

In a dusty climate where everyone wore sandals, foot washing was so unpleasant that only the lowest servant in the household could be compelled to do it. The guest of honour — the rabbi, the master, the one they called Lord — had no business near anyone's feet.

But Jesus pairs the highest possible claim with the lowest possible action. And in doing so, he reveals something true about himself: this is exactly the kind of God he is.

A test for any religious leader

Hold these two together. They form a kind of test.

If a religious leader makes high claims about themselves but doesn't have a servant heart, they're a fraud. Plenty of those around. If someone simply serves but doesn't claim divine identity, they're another teacher of love — admirable, but not unique.

But Jesus does both. He claims to be God and he demonstrates perfect servant love. Not a fraudster out for himself — if he were, why walk the way of the cross? Not a nice teacher of love — if he were, why make the staggering claims about himself?

Hold them together, and with your head you say: he just might be the Son of God. And with your heart you say: that's beautiful.

Someone once described Jesus this way:

In Jesus Christ you see tenderness without weakness, boldness without harshness, humility without any uncertainty, unbending conviction yet complete approachability, insistence on truth but always bathed in love, power without insensitivity, integrity without rigidity, passion without prejudice.

Imagine being in the presence of someone like that.

See how he loves them

Now sit with the scene. Jesus is hours from the cross. Hours from the unimaginable physical pain and the spiritual pain of separation from his Father.

If that were any of us, we'd be thinking about ourselves. I've got a lot going on right now. I'm not up for this meal.

Not Jesus. He kneels. He washes feet. He comforts and teaches.

And it's not just that he serves. Look at whose feet he washes.

Judas is at the table. The one who has already decided to betray him. Jesus washes his feet.

Peter is there. The one Jesus knows will deny even knowing him within hours. Jesus washes his feet.

Every other disciple is there. Each one will desert him that night. Jesus washes every foot of every flaky disciple. Because he loves them.

Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.

See how he loves them. Even the betrayer. Even the denier. Even the deserters.

Even us.

A new command

After he finishes, Jesus tells his disciples plainly:

I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet — so you should wash one another's feet. I have given you an example. A new command I give you: love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples.

This isn't an optional extra for keen Christians. It's the defining mark of those who follow Jesus. Love that picks up the towel and takes a knee. Love in selfless service. Putting each other's needs first.

Easy, right? Simple?

It only takes half a second of honest reflection to realise how hard it is.

Selfishness, pride, entitlement — they all get in the way. Maybe I've done my time loving others. Maybe it's their turn to love me. Maybe I'll only love if I'm loved first. And showing love is genuinely costly. It's putting yourself out there. It's not always received the way you hoped. We've been hurt before, by people who should have loved us, served us, protected us. It can be easier to wall ourselves off.

What do we do with Jesus' command to love?

It's impossible under our own strength and steam.

But we aren't alone in this.

See Jesus

We have Jesus. We see Jesus. And he walks with us.

See the one who loves even those who betray and abandon him. See the one who loves so much that he kneels not just to the floor, but submits to death — kneels into the very depths of hell — so that we can be freed from death and separation from God.

If we see how he loves us, only then do we have the power to love others.

We are the ones Jesus has washed clean. By his love, he shed his blood to wash us from our sins and restore us to God. We are the loved. We are the washed. And it's only from that place that we can listen to and follow the command of our foot-washing Lord, and wash each other's feet.

So this week, notice your heart. Notice your love, or lack of it. Notice the people you think you're more important than. The people you find it hard to love.

What's one small step you could take — to lay aside what you think is owed to you, and show this kind of Jesus-shaped love?

This post is adapted from a sermon preached by Murray Colville at St Hilda's Anglican Church Katoomba on John 13, as part of our Come and See series through John's Gospel.

Visit us at www.katoomba.church.